Static Attachment
by carnifax
Summary: Nothing bad can happen if nothing ever changes, right? Balthier/Fran


**Static Attachment**

By Carnifax  
Final Fantasy XII  
Balthier/Fran  
Rated T  
General/Romance  
_Nothing bad can happen if nothing ever changes, right?_

Wow, a first February Final Fantasy fanfic. (Say that five times fast!) At least, I think it's February. Due to my lack-of-a-new-calendar, my wall is eternally stuck in December 2007, with Momiji Sohma staring out at everything. It's great.

For everyone I've never met, I'm Carnifax and this is my first venture into Final Fantasy, as well as my first venture into, oh my god!, something that isn't slash. _(Cue polite applause.)_ I'm sorry that it's not ReksVaan, though. _(sad face)_

I really don't know when or where this takes place, but oh well. It just _is_.

Voila:

* * *

Balthier's hand came out of nowhere, smacking Vaan across the back of the skull. The boy grunted and glared up at the sky pirate through his bangs.

"What was _that_ for?" he growled. Maybe it was just him, but when they were in a city pub for relaxation, it seemed perfectly okay to merely sit on a barstool and watch the rest of the group joke around.

"Watch your eyes," Balthier replied, raising a brow. He inclined his head toward Fran and smirked. "If they wander where they shouldn't, you'll get more than just a little slap on the head."

"But—"

Balthier held up a hand to silence him. "She's new to you, I understand that, and she certainly has her physical charms. But do try to contain your… _youthful hormones_ long enough to get through our journey."

"As if _you_'ve never thought about her like… like _that_!"

"_Never_," the man answered, leveling his gaze. "She's a traveling companion, as attractive to me as you are—that is, not at all. Now, time does not allow for us to stop every time you begin to feel aroused—"

Vaan slammed his hand on the bar. "Balthier—!"

The sky pirate shook his head, staring across the dingy, smoky space as Fran herself walked toward them, a slight looseness in her step because of the drinks. Balthier glanced at the boy's face and gave an exasperated sigh, shoving him off the stool.

"Go cool your head," he muttered, "or your body—whichever one is the bigger problem."

Vaan gave one last glance at the Viera (and earned a slap upside the head for it) before he finally stalked off toward the dim stairwell.

"Yes?" Balthier asked as Fran sat atop the stool Vaan had previously been occupying. "You look like you want something."

"You think me foolish," she murmured. As she crossed her legs, one of her feet found Balthier and, intentionally or not, rubbed a quick line down the inside of his thigh.

"I would never dare," Balthier laughed, discernibly shifting out of her leg's reach. "Why would you accuse me of such a thing?"

"Either foolish," she said, extending one hand as if to weigh the word, "or deaf." Her other hand came to mirror the first for a moment before she dropped both back into her lap. Her fingers idly played with the translucent fabric of her armor while her eyes burned into Balthier. "I _do_ have ears, Balthier."

"You _do_ have ears, Fran," he agreed. "And if I may say, they are massive yet stunning."

The side of her nose twitched in annoyance. "I heard your conversation with the boy," she said finally, to the point. "You know that."

Balthier turned his head, keeping his eyes on her face. "I do," he agreed again, smirking, considering what she meant.

"So it was your intention to insult me?"

"Not at all," he smiled, lips tight with sudden confusion. Fran was the sensible kind of woman to have as a cohort—clever, beautiful, tolerant, dangerous. She rarely got upset, and yet her expression now was dark with tension. "How did I insult you?"

"I am completely unattractive to you." It was an accusation, wrought with long-buried resentment. "As unattractive as Vaan, in fact."

"You're beautiful," Balthier admitted with half a shrug. "You've beaten him on that aspect, haven't you?"

"Something beautiful catches your eye, makes you feel lucky," Fran argued, spitting out the last word like venom. "Something _attractive_ draws you in, compels you with its power. Which am I to you?"

Balthier's forehead grew creased, but he leaned in toward her, audibly swallowing. "To me?" he asked, the merest whisper. She nodded slightly and tipped her face to his, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "To me," he said again, "right now, you seem _very_…"

Fran blinked. "Very…?"

"Drunk."

She shoved him backwards immediately, watching with a grim expression as he fell across an empty table. His foot caught a chair leg and the clatter of it against the floor brought their group to silence.

Ashe was the first to move. She helped Balthier to his feet and, with a dignified sniff, pointed a reproving finger in his face. "Don't call attention to yourself," she ordered. Then, without even considering that it could've been Fran's fault, went back to the booth she and Panelo were sharing.

"That was uncalled for," Balthier chuckled, empty of humor. He passed the bar and went to the door, barely noticing that Fran had followed him outside. He had only just passed the last stumbling drunk when Fran was at his side, yanking him into a narrow alley.

"You assume I am inebriated," Fran hissed, "but you, I know, have _seen_ me inebriated. I am _upset_, Balthier."

He twisted out of her grip and wandered deeper into the dark passage, hands clasped behind his back. "You're upset because I am not one of the many drooling men who only want to sleep with you?"

"_No_," she said, but then allowed, "Perhaps."

Balthier laughed. "Fran, if anything, that should be something to appreciate."

"Being appreciated is something to appreciate," she growled back. "How is it, that you can flirt mindlessly with any woman who crosses your wayward path and even go as far as to grant compliments in her absence, and yet, when your own partner is standing before you, nothing more than 'beautiful,' a substandard word in and of itself, can escape your lips?"

"You're fishing for compliments, then," Balthier chuckled, and he nodded. "All right, if that's what you're after… You're—"

"Balthier," Fran groaned. "I realize that trying to steal a thief's secrets is an impossible task, but I cannot concentrate on _any_thing as of late." She grabbed his arm again, forcing him to look at her.

"I apologize for distracting you," was all he said.

"You have _always_ distracted me," she sighed. Her hand moved up his arm, over the hard collar of his armor and came to rest on his cheek, the warmth of his face radiating against her hand. His eyes never lowered, never lost their intensity, but they softened when she touched him.

"Fran…?"

Abruptly, she whisked away her hand, taking a long step backward. "I am unwanted," she managed, "I understand."

But Balthier caught her wrist before she could move; he pulled her forward, gaze no less striking than before. "I never said you were unwanted."

She let out a quiet _hn_. "You never said otherwise."

A moment passed and he released her wrist. "What is your purpose?" he asked, voice breaking from its even rhythm to echo the distress his face presented. "What should I say to you?"

"I do not know," she answered briskly. "I—"

"Fran, if I truly am a leading man," Balthier interrupted, "then I should naturally have fawning subjects, most of them of the fairer sex. I may, as you put it so kindly, 'mindlessly flirt' with them all—and yet, did you ever pause to consider that perhaps it's the ones I _cannot_ brush aside with silly compliments that I respect?"

She bit out a spiteful laugh. "Respect?"

Balthier hesitated, shifted his weight. "Care for," he amended.

Her eyes were challenging now; "And you care not for anyone else?"

"Well, I… You can't… I… I just…" He shook his head and reached out to her, a gentle hand on the back of her neck to guide her mouth to his. It was a brief kiss but it was warm, and when Balthier pulled away from her, Fran's eyes were wide. "I don't care for anyone else… in the same way as I care for you."

She seemed unable to speak. "Why… Why have you… kept away from me?"

"I couldn't put strain between us," he said as he took his hand from her neck, letting it fall limply to his side. "By acting as I normally would, you would either think it a joke or begin to dislike even being my partner." He took his gaze away from hers for a moment, taking a breath before looking at her again. "And now you're angry with me," he chuckled sadly, showing a crooked smile. "I am sorry, truly."

"I'm far from angry," she said quickly, raising both hands to his face. "Why would you need to hide something from me?"

"I may be a reckless thief at times, but I'm a careful man. I could never find the courage to… to tell you I love you, because if that were to break the bonds we already have together, I…" Balthier closed his eyes and sighed; he turned his face to one of her hands and kissed her palm, wincing. "Though I suppose they just broke. I'm a useless man…"

"The gods," Fran said suddenly. "They deliver nothing but irony."

Balthier opened his eyes, only to close them again as Fran pulled him to her. The caution of the first kiss had faded and the simple, innocent movement of their lips together construed more than any words could, giving way into promises and apologies that neither knew how to say aloud.

The warmth ended too soon for both of them; Fran ran a careful tongue over her lips and Balthier smiled. "How are the gods ironic?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Fran ran a thumb over his cheek, mirroring his tender grin. "By clinging to the past, you keep from freeing the future." He kissed her forehead as she added, "And we _both_ feared the consequences."

Balthier nodded. "Though, I like the consequences." He took her hand and kissed it; "I've found my leading lady."

* * *

Tell me whatcha think, dahlings.


End file.
